


leave me in chains

by Sylv



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 06:07:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3799714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylv/pseuds/Sylv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wakes up hard and wanting, the taste of her still fresh on his tongue, the feel of her around him still branded into his memory. He dreams of her moans and pants, those green eyes darkened with desire, the way her hands gripped at him like a lifeline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	leave me in chains

**Author's Note:**

> So elaric and I are doing this thing where we finish some of each other’s WIPs, and she sent me the start of the sequel to [Just a Little Taste](http://elaric.tumblr.com/post/76692952317/just-a-little-taste) and [I Want Your Poison](http://elaric.tumblr.com/post/77784116801/i-want-your-poison) (which should be read first, but like with breaks because holy hell batman, that’s too hot). I made my attempt at doing this verse justice so, I hope you enjoy (and be sure to leave Alison love for this verse)

 

He wakes up hard and wanting, the taste of her still fresh on his tongue, the feel of her around him still branded into his memory. He dreams of her moans and pants, those green eyes darkened with desire, the way her hands gripped at him like a lifeline.

Every time he wakes up, he reaches for her next to him, and his hand closes around empty space.

Killian has taken to rolling out of bed and sitting at his desk, watching the night sky and drinking from his flask in these instances until her face in his mind blurs and he can drop back to sleep. Drunken sleeps don’t induce dreams.

The third time this happens, and he wakes up with his cock straining, no warm body next to him, it is pretty easy to decide that enough is enough. He pulls his clothes on, grabs his coat as he storms out the door, and begins the ten-minute walk from the docks to Emma’s apartment.

He had barely woken in time to see her zipping up her coat and tugging on her boots in the early hours of the morning, and practically running from his cabin, all without a word, not even a glance back at him as she did so. Killian hadn’t had time to collect himself, to coax her back to bed with dirty promises and warm fingers, had only been half-awake when she left.

He spent that morning lying in his bed, wondering why he had wanted to have her again anyway.

Killian walks too quickly to allow his thoughts to catch up with him, almost wishing for traffic on the streets to distract him. As it is, the roads of Storybrooke are quiet, which is to be expected past midnight.

All he has to do is prove to himself that he doesn’t want anything but her curves and her beautiful blonde hair. All he has to do is shove her up against a wall and take her again and he’ll know—they’ll both know—that she means nothing to him. He simply needs to remind himself.

The lock on her apartment door is laughably easy to pick, although he expected as much. Who thinks about the need for extra security in a town like this? What he doesn’t expect is to find Emma wide awake, sitting on the couch, staring straight at him when he comes inside.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Killian thinks he recovers impressively quick considering he hadn’t been prepared to leap right into things. Swiftly he is at her side, crowding into her personal space, challenging her. She doesn’t back down; she never has.

He enjoys that immensely.

“I’m proving a point.”

He doesn’t kiss her so much as force their mouths together, teeth clacking and lips bruising. Emma responds immediately, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him down on top of her, so they are both lying across the couch.

Her knee draws up around his hip, allowing him to fit himself into her, while her other leg curls up around his. He feels like she is rearing for a fight with her knee holding him tight and her leg clinging to him, her hands dragging his down to her sides. His hook tears through the cushions of the couch, but he doesn’t think she notices when his mouth is still on hers.

She pulls back with a hard-won breath. “What point is that exactly?” Emma hisses, the heat of her words hitting him like a whip of air.

Killian doesn’t answer with words. Where her hands were holding his down, he jerks out of her grip to rake his fingers across her side, his hook drawing up to her neck. Killian isn’t trying to be gentle when he presses the curve of it to the hollow of her throat. He studies how it makes her chest heave with fear, adrenaline, _and lust_ , flushing her skin from her face down to her bare neck in reds and pinks that make her darkened eyes so much greener. And her eyes, the green of them is dragon-fire.

All at once, he has this out of control urge to slay the dragon in her. Kiss her, fuck her with his tongue until she’s too breathless and her lips are too swollen with his kisses for her to deny him what he has craved for these three long days.

Emma’s bent leg squeezes his hip, her knee bruising his rib cage. At his wince, her mouth curls up in a smirk. Killian retaliates by pushing his hips into hers, grinding the heavy weight of his already hard erection into the crotch of her threadbare shorts, just waiting for him to tear them aside and take her, take what she had given him in the darkness of his cabin - and take back what she stole.

She wants him to do so. Emma grits her teeth when he slides his hook down along her sweat slick curves, the shoulder-less top giving way easily to the sharpened point of it. Her eyes flash when he slips the curve of it underneath the black bra covering her breasts in torn and lint tangled lace. She curses him when he tears the well-loved garment in two.

“I’m doing you a favor, lass,” he says. Lifting himself up on his hand, he tears the top all the way down for good measure, leaving the fabric hanging off her shoulders, the halved bra just baring the hint of her peaked nipples to him.  
  
With her hair a mess beneath her and her mouth reddened – and she even has a slight cut on her top lip, from the gnashing of his teeth or the bite of hers – she looks ravished and he hasn’t even done the ravishing yet.

He lifts away one side of her bra with his hook, revealing the whole of her lovely breast to him. “Do you really not know what I’m proving here? Are you really that ignorant, Swan…or are you just playing at it?”

She doesn’t answer.

His hook traces circles around the rosy pink of her areola until the involuntary arch of her back makes her teeth clench.

Still she doesn’t speak.

“This isn’t a game. That would mean you might have a chance at winning.”

His grin is remorseless and his laughter menacing.  Instead of being cowed, Emma’s bottom lip juts out and despite its tremble when the curve of his hook finally touches her nipple, she says, “I don’t need to win. If you’re here to fuck me, just do it already.”

“If I were only here to fuck you, dear Emma, I’d already have your knickers around your knees and my cock inside you. Like I said, darling, I’m here to prove a point. To, shall we say, drive home a message. You broke the rules, and there are always consequences to breaking the rules.”

_You left me **again**_ , goes unspoken but the ride of his hips does not go undone. He pushes his too hard cock into her center until she nearly bites her tongue trying to spit the words.

“I didn’t _break_ any damn rules. My coming and going isn’t up to you.”

He licks his bottom lip, rides her again. The sweat drips down her forehead, falling down behind her ear into her fraying blonde curls. He can feel that heat pouring off her. In his jacket, still resting heavy on his shoulders, the heat is nearly as suffocating as the way he pulls his hook away and bends down to stuff his mouth with her breast. He takes only a moment between sucking the soft mound and her harsh cries to say, “You’re wrong, Swan. Your coming is _entirely_ up to me.”

Her cry dies in her throat, choking her with her own inhaled breath. He nips at her nipple with his teeth, slips his hand under her when she pulls up and holds her there, crushed to him. Where her knee had clung to him, it now burrows into the couch. The frame creaks with the force, the cushions dip deep under the hard press of his own knees.

Emma squeals. He takes the sound into him and laves at her breast to the melody of her arousal.

“Oh, fuck, Hook. Fuck me. _Fuck me_.”

Completely fucked. That’s what he wants her to feel, and he looks to be getting there. Killian lifts his head to admire his work, the way her breast looks bruised and bitten and loved by the hand of a beast. He gives her a chance to catch her breath, to take in what he’s done to her, knowing it’ll wreck her even more when he finally buries himself in her lush heat.

“Are you ready to beg for it yet? Ready to plead my name, say whatever filthy words I want to hear just so you can get what you need: the cock that you crave so desperately, you’ll fuck a pirate like the suppliant princess you are.”

“Fuck you. Is that pleading enough for you?” she says.

He grins with pride. He’d expected nothing less. The shaky breath, the refusal to admit defeat – because she hasn’t been defeated, not yet. No matter how much she wants his cock in her mouth, prodding her throat and resting the weight she’d bent on her knees in the temple of her office to worship. The defeat can’t take her, not yet, even when her wetness is dripping through her clothes. He feels it on his fingers as he pulls up to lewdly palm his own cock, acutely aware of the way her eyes follow the motion, watching for it so he can laugh and say, “In time, I’ll give you what you want. But first –”  

He leans back on his knees to shirk himself of his jacket, kick out of his boots, unbutton his shirt only a little more than it already is. His fingers are still sticky wet when he’s done.

Emma is so needy that she doesn’t even move to fight back. Her hands are still where they were when he first pulled away from her, one tangled in her own hair, the other clutching the white pillow with pink and yellow flowers beneath her head.

The sight is almost angelic until his eyes take it all in, the one breast dimming from red to shades of pink, nipple still puckered, the other still covered by the torn remains of her bra, her shirt slipping off her shoulders…

He cuts a jagged line along the straps. It is only years of practice that allow him to do it with ease.

There is nothing angelic about Emma now. She has the look of a succubus with her clothes laying beneath her. Her skin is beaded with sweat and her lips wet with spit, half open in invitation for his tongue to savage them again.

Killian wants to but she isn’t done fighting him yet.

In fact, he is taken aback, stunned by how her hands move out from under her to pull at his hook.

“First, this,” she finishes for him with a bite softer than how she darts her tongue out and licks along the curve of his hook. There is no fear in her eyes as she cradles it in her hands and sucks the metal appendage with the same helpless desire that always catches her when they’re together.

That always catches him.

Emma’s cheeks flush and hollow out. Her eyelashes flutter. She doesn’t let up until his cock is pulsing so hard he has to shove his pants down past his waist to thrust into his moistened palm.

Her laugh is exaltation. It is ecstasy.

“Breaking the rules again, love,” he says.

She doesn’t see the danger until she drops his hook to the safety of the valley of her breasts and he draws the wet metal down, down to tear away her dark grey shorts with the little white ‘M’ embroidered on them and the wet center he grinded out of her.

Killian hand tugs away the shredded remains and his hook spreads apart her wet lips. He gives only half a mind to the fact that she wasn’t wearing anything beneath and instead focuses on pushing two fingers into her and watching the way she keens at the shameful suck of her pussy around him. Emma is so tight and he can do nothing but watch his fingers disappear inside her while his cock bobs helplessly, need untended.

“Touch me,” he demands.

Perhaps she wasn’t so filled with fight as he thought. Her hands are on him, pad of her thumb sweeping over the wet tip of his cock, the other hand caressing his balls.

It is the softness of her touch that makes Killian take pity – or revenge, and rub her clit in hard circles, the walls of her pussy with the same pressure.

For a moment, Emma’s hand grips him hard enough to hurt, but with both hands back on his cock, it’s a blessing.

Emma’s eyes flicker up to meet his. “Hook.”

He is going to ravage her.

With a smirk, he echoes her. “Emma,” he says and draws out so he can roll her wetted clit between his thumb and forefinger.

The cry is instantaneous. The throb and leak of her pussy just as rapid. She comes and he lifts her up, one arm hooked beneath her knee, the other on her hip so that he doesn’t need to do much to get the right angle to push into her and start proving his point.

She thrashes beneath him, groans, moans, every little sound that she makes worked out of her. It takes everything in him to keep her in the rapture that makes her eyes roll and her hands scrabble at his thighs. It would be easy to keep her on the edge without the effort because she wants it too much, but he is a selfish man, and he wants her over the edge.

Her nails scratch. He barely feels it over the agony within, coiling heat low in his stomach, making him prisoner to the same need assaulting her.   

Killian watches her.

Emma’s skin blazes with red, a trail of fire along the tanned form. She’s wet all over, as naked as she is, she’s sweating so much it sticks her to the couch, and when he pulls out to flip her, he can see the damp imprint she leaves behind.

Before the surprise can fade, he plunges back into her. Her gasp is muffled by the pillow. Her half-sob of, “Fuck me,” is not as she turns her head to the side to breathe.

Emma looks lovely like this, bent in an arch with her ass barely lifted, her legs barely spread, just enough that he can reach between them to stroke her clit, though it is a tight fit. Just like her sweet clutch, so tight around his cock.

“God, please.”

Her voice trembles, shakes with the sound of mountains falling to pieces. It is just what he wanted, but somehow it doesn’t sate him. He chases something in his thrusts that she isn’t giving him and it tears at him, the not knowing, chasing after an elusive _something_.

“I can’t take this,” she whines, but there’s a hint of actual emotion in it, far removed from her lust and the way the punch of his fat cock drives her into face into the cushions.

“Christ,” he says, watching the way she bites at the flowered pillow. He can see a tear streak down her face, clear on the rose of her cheeks, and it is beautiful in a way that it should not be, captivating in a way that propels him to madness.

He only wants to fuck her, to force her out of his system in one hard spending. It isn’t supposed to be this way, where he strokes her back with his hand instead of pushing his fingers inside her, where he knows the stretch is already too much for her to bear, and letting his rings rub against her and make her scream into that pillow.

Killian should just let her have it, every ounce of his rage and bitterness, but another tear joins the first and something in him breaks. Anger is still there still burning his head, lust still clouding his mind his shades of red and green, green like her eyes, but it is nothing compared to how needy _he_ is. Not her. Emma may love the fuck, but she isn’t needy for him the way he is for her.

He came here to prove a point, but he ended up proving it to himself not her. He took her because she didn’t just mean something, she meant everything.

On a laugh, he curses himself. “Fucking _fuck_.” What a waste of a good fuck, to go ahead and start falling for her the moment her lips touched his cock, to go ahead and get addicted to her touch and the way she begged in the span of one evening.

What a waste to bind himself to a woman who would fuck him and leave him, give him hope on a journey atop a beanstalk and leave him in chains.

“You broke the rules,” he curses and soothes her whimpering response with his hand on her spine, fingers softer than they have any right to be when he is pounding into her, balls slapping loudly against her ass, the pressure building, ready to explode at any given moment.

The moment she bites the pillow but he can still hear his _name_ cursed from her lips, tugged from her throat and pulled out from her uncaring heart.

“ _Hook_.”

He spills inside her grasping, clutching heat with his hips smacked to hers. She holds him tight, but he knows it isn’t the way he wants and it makes him want to fuck her again, yell, rage.

To be the one that leaves this time.

Except he can’t. Of course, he _can_. His orgasm took him hard, but not hard enough to leave him so weak that he can’t pull up his pants, button his shirt and walk out her door. It’s his heart that’s left him weak, as it always has.

It has driven him to lengths that he’d never imagined – like this one. Killian pulls out of her while she still ripples and throbs with her orgasm, pulls up his pants over his overly sensitive length, and carefully flips her so he can just as carefully slip his hook-ended arm beneath her. His other arm wraps around her knees and he carries her to what he knows is her bedroom – it is unadorned except for a few photos on the shelves and a blanket that seems as well-loved as the bra he tore to pieces left on her couch.

“Hook,” Emma murmurs as she buries her face in her pillow. Her eyes aren’t open, but she doesn’t need that to read his weakness.

“Stay,” she whispers.

He doesn’t, but he does clear the remains of their union from the couch. A small courtesy for the Savior who can’t save him.


End file.
